Say you'll hunt me
by AmyNY
Summary: He wants to tell her it doesn't matter either way, that he doesn't care and more than anything he wants to truly, truly mean it. Merlin. Morgana. Can it ever really be over?


Characters: Merlin, Morgana

Timeline: Season 5 and beyond.

**A/N:** My take on the finale and the Merlin and Morgana confrontation. After five years I think they deserved more then that brief scene they got.

-MM-

For Merlin, very few things came easily. One of those things was his love for Freya. He's known her so briefly and yet he could not help but fall in love with her the moment he saw her. Simple as that. Her kindness, innocence, willingness to help others made it all too easy to relate, to love.

After she died he was certain that that same innocence and willingness to trust others, to love, that he shared with her has also died. And it has. The little he was left with he lost because of another dark haired beauty he used to know.

When it came to Morgana, nothing came easily. She was the polar opposite of Freya in every possible way. Nothing about her smirk said innocence and kindness was as foreign to her as loyalty. With her it was always push and pull, love and hate. She never did anything halfway.

With her, there is no end. Or the beginning. They are forever stuck in the middle, between redemption and loss, good and bad, love and hate. It can never be one or the other, it can never be over. Sometimes he dares to hope, when he sees a certain look in her eyes but it doesn't last. He almost wishes she'd just kill him already, put him out of his misery.

But she never does.

He's gotten in her way so many times, sometimes on purpose, just to see what she'd do (how far she'd go) and she'd just cast him aside, throw him against a wall, tie him up and leave.

It's not long before he starts to wonder why that is so. She would stop at nothing to get what she wanted, kingdoms were burned, brothers forsaken, and yet here he was living, breathing testament to her what? Kindness?

He wants to tell her it doesn't matter either way, that he doesn't care and more than anything he wants to truly, truly mean it.

-MM-

She talks and talks, tells him constantly what a bother he is, over and over again and at times he can't take it anymore. If he wasn't such a coward (if he didn't have all those other things to think about like destiny and Arthur and Gaius and the future of an entire kingdom) maybe he'd interrupt her, dare her to make that next move (the final one) just to satisfy his own curiosity.

As it is, he remains distant, with great effort and control that is the result of the years of practice (with many late night walks following her every move with trepidation, unable to react, say anything). For a while she stays away too and he takes it as it is, not wanting to think too much about the implications or the possibilities, not daring to question this rare gift of peace, however temporary.

It's an intricate, twisted dance where they both walk a delicate line, careful not to cross it or step too far. A game of chess until she pushes it much too far and knocks down his most important piece - magic, turning him into nothing more than a pawn. And so that same pawn goes to see the black queen, stepping over the dark chessboard that is the Valley of the Fallen Kings, finally ready to answer his own question at his weakest. Facing her like this, without his magic, it's frightening but the anger keeps him going.

"Emrys." A voice, dissipating in the hundred directions, calling him by that name. Every time he heard her say it before it made him cringe and now when she had a face to connect with the name the word sounded sinister coming from those crimson lips. If only the words could kill... "Over here Emrys," she calls again, taunting him.

"I see you Morgana," he says and she laughs at his obvious lie but by now he can read her easily without even without facing her, can hear the slight quiver in her voice, one she tries to cover with practiced threats and fake smiles.

"How well you've kept you secret. How well you've protected my brother," she says and he clenches his fists, feels the anger rise slowly with every mocking word she speaks.

A cowardly move on her part, to strip him of his magic from afar - she could've just come to Camelot and killed him, it would've been less painful. So now he'll make her face him, no more games, no more running. No more lies.

The adrenalin gives him a false sense of power, making him look braver than he feels as he steps further into the dark cave with no other weapon but a sword, one he never learned to use.

"Face me Morgana," he demands, voice echoing in the open space. His senses are on high alert, aware of even the smallest noise, eyes scanning the cave. It's an unfamiliar territory for him. Usually he could rely on his magic to be his guide, even with his eyes closed he could feel when something was wrong.

"Face me," he repeated, voice low and dangerous as he heard footsteps from behind. He didn't turn, letting her come closer, completely exposed, even as his mind screamed to back away.

"But you cannot help your king now. You cannot even help yourself." And there it is – the awful truth. By the looks of it she expects him to cower, admit defeat but her taunts only make him more resolved, giving him strength when he has none left.

"Why do you hide? You still afraid of me?" he pushes back.

"I fear no one. Least of all you," she spits back but the tone of her voice betrays her - he's not the only one pretending. So he turns to face her, and says "I'm not so sure that's true."

"You're the one to talk," she calls him out and he looks away, there is nothing to add there for she is right. For one reason or the other neither of them were very nice people anymore. "The great Emrys...not so powerful now."

"You made sure of that."

Her smile falters, as if she hasn't expected him to concede so easily. "So it's really you. The most powerful sorcerer that ever lived, the one Gaelix warned me about, my supposed doom-"

"Yes."

"All this time-"

"Yes," he exhaled, as if a giant burden was lifted of his shoulders, one he carried for years.

"And yet here you are. Only a _fool_ would've challenged me-"

"I can't let Arthur die. I won't."

"So what, have you come to beg for my forgiveness, plead to my sisterly emotions?" she asks with the sneer.

"No. I have come here for it is my destiny to protect Arthur, and surely you know me well enough to know I would not remain idle."

For once she stands before him superior in every way, a moment she once only dreamed of – the great Emrys defeated before her. She took everything away from him, and still he stood proud before her knowing what fate awaits him, laying his life down for his king.

"Then Emrys you are a greater fool than I thought."

His hand falls limply at the side and he lets the sward fall on the ground, the sound of metal colliding with stone deafening in the silence. "If that is what you believe I fear we have nothing further to discuss."

"What are you-"

"Isn't this what you wanted?" he asks stepping closer "Here I am - so won't you finish what you started?"

"It doesn't- you're not important anymore." she says, taken off guard by his actions, carefully backing away. Yet with each step she takes he advances closer forward.

"I can't let you leave," he says in a low, grave voice.

His eyes water a little and she stands, shaken to the core by his foolish bravery. There is a small moment where her eyes lock with his and she can see the Merlin that stood before her and told her he'd help her find the druids, all fierce determination and unrelenting belief in something she found impossible. But then the moment is gone and her lips tug into an ugly, half-crazy smile as she says, "Coming here was the last mistake you'll ever make."

And the wall collapses between them, trapping him as she walks away again leaving him in ruins, still breathing.

-MM-

"Hello Emrys," she greats and even as the world is falling around them he does not fail to notice she never calls him Merlin anymore. Maybe she is right to do so, there is so little of Merlin left in him, some days he can't even remember that poor, innocent boy that walked through the gates of Camelot with glee in his eyes. Maybe she wasn't the only one who lost the way.

He watches her with Arthur, listens as she threatens everything he worked so hard to protect until he can't do it anymore.

"No, the time for all this blood shed is over. I blame myself for what you've become," he admits honestly as she turns to face him, he awes her as much even if it falls so very short now. Once it would've meant something to her. Now it only wakes a bad memory. That's how it is with them these days, every good moment they shared, tarnished with a thousand bad ones. "But this has to end."

And there it is. One simple truth he had to face - there is no other way.

There is nothing more to say, the friendship he once cherished reduced to a power play, a cold, calculated game no one can win. The realization isn't new - he's known this for a long time now but was unwilling to admit it. Now it's clear what has to be done but there is no relief.

He watches what she's become, what he's made her into and knows no apology can make that better.

"I am a High Priestess. No mortal blade can kill me-"

The sword in his hand, a defiant look on her face - she was never the one to back down (nor was he). There is a sense of foreboding, one that wasn't present before, the last High Priestess and the warlock facing away for one last time. There is no lightning, no falling if the skies, only a cold blade piercing an even colder heart.

A gasp escapes her lips as her eyes find his, surprise evident in them and something he probably mistook for regret as she reaches for him (but it is all too late, so very late).

After all he has done this a long time ago, killed her with an innocent bottle of water filled with poison, that her sister saved her from yet he suspects there was some left and that with time it spread like a spider web through her, consuming her.

She lies before his eyes, taking her final breath and he does not look away as he says his goodbye, finding little comfort in the fact that she was finally at peace. His hand feels numb, much like his heart. It's not a new feeling. For he had died a long time ago too, she has killed him with traitorous fingers and deceitful eyes, a smirk on those blood red lips a nail to his proverbial coffin.

Back then when he was faced with the impossible choice, the very real possibility of losing her forever tears filled his eyes despite how much he wanted to be brave, to hide his true intentions, his true feelings for this was a friend before him. A friend fighting for a breath and every time she reached for her throat he felt as if he couldn't breathe either, fresh tears spilling from his eyes. Every pain, every ache she went through he felt as his own.

But now, he felt nothing.

When it came to Freya it was easy to fall for there was no time for the inevitable crash, he thinks bitterly now, so maybe he should be grateful to Arthur for that after all.

When it came to Morgana there was the sweet uplift of the first encounter and the ease of being in the company of someone who understood him and then there were also poor decisions that led to a fall neither of them ever recovered from. He kept waiting for her to kill him, but she never did.

In the end the difficult choices were his to make and to live with.

For hundreds of years. Forever.


End file.
